


xenophobia: fear of unknown

by backstage_rebel_girl (song_takemehome)



Series: enamored with monsters [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Boogeyman - Freeform, F/M, Fear to Love, Horror, Human/Monster Romance, Monster - Freeform, Monster Boyfriend, Monster Romance, NSFW Art, Other, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Teratophilia, Xenophilia, monster love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-09-17 07:09:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16970070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/song_takemehome/pseuds/backstage_rebel_girl
Summary: family friends ask you to babysit their son, zach, but the night becomes increasingly disturbing from unnatural occurrences playing out by an imaginary friend he insists is real.





	1. Chapter 1

“Again, thank you so much for doing this, even if the call was last minute,” Lucy breathes out, tugging on her coat in a messy haste from her husband’s ushering. For a second, you watch her struggle to get her second arm through its rightful sleeve before snatching the other end that keeps escaping the older woman’s grasp. The display earns a harmless chuckle from Samuel who snaps around to tap in his shoes when his wife tosses a glare his way. You can't help but smile a little. “You’re a lifesaver; I don’t know what we’d do without you,” she says.

You merely offer a modest shrug in response to her praise. “It’s no problem at all, Lucy. You know I adore Zach.”

She beams at the confession, despite hearing it a dozen handful of times in the past. “Have I ever told you how great of a mother you’d make?”

“Lucy,” Samuel stresses, although highly amused at your knee-jerk reaction.

You can only manage an embarrassed laugh, politely waving her words away. Thankfully, Samuel reminds his wife that they don’t have all the time in the world to get to their three-day-getaway.

Lucy finally gives in, mumbling about men having no patience, a remark you wisely ignore. “Alright, well, you have both of our numbers for emergencies; the kitchen is free reign, so make whatever you like; and since it’s a Friday night, Zach can stay up until ten.”

You salute playfully, bidding the couple a good night after. “Understood. Have fun on your vacation,” you call out to them. You wait until the taillights disappear far into the road before locking up the front door, glad to close off the mid-winter air.

As soon as you swivel around, you find Zach standing in the entrance hall, waiting for his parents to take their leave to make an appearance. Staring up at you, he bears a wide, knowing smile. From where he stands, you can see him vibrating with excitement. In return, you raise an eyebrow and crook a smile in challenge, already expecting what’s to happen. In record time, the eight year-old ball of energy shoots off into the depth of the house. You follow him, mocking the roars of an animal eager to rain his belly with tickles.

You allow the boy his fair share of running before you swoop down to seize him into your awaiting arms. The momentum sends the two of you flying straight into the living room couch, thankfully. No need for accidents this early on. Upon immediate landing, your hands begin their merciless attack on his sides and belly, prompting Zach to violently squirm and howl.

“What do you say?” you tease, getting him just under his ribs and pulling an ear splitting screech from his little lungs.

“Please!” he begs, pushing at your hands that are much stronger than his.

You instantly stop your torture at his cry, unable to help the infectious mirth spilling from your own mouth. “Okay, I’ll stop, but only because you asked nicely.”

“Thank you,” he giggles.

“Alright, time for dinner.”

“But I’m not hungry yet.” He pulls the puppy eyes, folding his arms and jutting his bottom lip out in hopes of convincing you with his childish charms, which would be hard to argue against if it were anybody else. That kid can be a clever little thing when he wants to be. Fortunately, you’ve been caring for him since the cradle, so you’ve built up quite the resistance.

“Eat first, play later,” you reaffirm, leaving no room for argument.

While you handle the dangerous parts, you task him with stirring and plating the dish. You’re placing dirtied dishes in the sink for later when you notice Zach filling a third plate. Curious, you opt to silently observe the boy pile a mountain of pasta, emptying half of the extra in the skillet.

“Zach, there’s only two of us eating.” You come up beside him, but don’t stop him from his mission.

“No,” he begins, finally setting the serving spoon away and admiring the toppled plate, “my friend is eating with us, too.” He beams at you, but confusion knits your brows together at his statement.

“Did you invite someone from school?” If that was the case, Lucy would have told you.

Zach shakes his head, blonde strands swaying. “He lives with me.”

Ah, an imaginary friend, you conclude. Although, you think it odd for a boy his age to still have an invisible pal. “Oh, I see. What’s his name?” you humor, grabbing the plates to set on the table, reluctantly letting him take the third one.

“Xavier.”

With impressive reflexes, you catch the other end of the platter when the contents begin slipping forth, tilting it up properly and taking it from Zach to place it between the others. “What’s Xavier look like?” you ask.

“He’s black, super tall, has long arms and legs, eyes that light up in the dark, and he has sharp teeth.” He sounds so exuberant that you nearly dismiss the rather monstrous description.

You’re no expert, but this Xavier sounds nothing like the fun, made-up creature of a child, he sounds very much like a nightmare. But then again, every child’s imagination does differ, so you decide not to think too much of it.

“Hm, he sounds scary,” you say, pouring water for you both.

“Nope, Xavier is really nice. He protects me when I sleep.”

You smile, brushing away a tuft of hair from his brows. “He does sound nice. Okay, let’s eat.”

“Can we play hide-and-seek after?”

“‘Course, but you gotta finish all your food first, buddy.”

Once finished, you take your dishes, ready to wash up. You reach for the third, untouched plate, but Zach protests.

“No, wait!” He snags onto your arm. “Please leave it out for Xavier. He’s really shy, so that’s why he didn’t come eat with us.”

You purse your lips for a moment, contemplating whether to continue playing along or not. You wouldn’t dare disappoint him so leave the plate as it is. “Help me clean up and I’ll leave it out for him. How’s that sound?”

Zach’s already in the kitchen, calling for you to hurry up. You laugh at his antics, relieving his worries by making way to him. Some time during the chore, a breeze rolls over your nape, inducing a shiver. You don’t remember cracking open a window. Zach’s chatter distracts that thought and it’s forgotten.

Suddenly, he turns sharply to his left, tossing his head nearly all the way back and looks into the air. Your face shifts in faint concern as you watch him nod intently at seemingly nothing. After a moment of silent conversing, he turns back to you. “Xavier says he wants to play with us, can he?” he asks.

You glance to where the boy was directing his attention to seconds ago. “Sure,” you say, albeit hesitantly.

He jumps in success, sending droplets of his still wet hands everywhere. “Yes!” You force a smile, trying to ignore what just happened. “Xavier says you should be the finder the first round,” he says, glancing back over to where his friend is supposedly standing.

“Whatever Xavier says,” you agree, wiping your hands dry. “I’m counting to ten, okay?” You shield your eyes and begin counting. You hear Zach giggle, calling for Xavier to follow after him. At the last moment, you peer through the gaps of your fingers and catch sight of the blonde boy’s hand out, like he’s clutching another and pulling them forth. You swear you see another set of fingers around the little ones, but you blink and he’s gone. Shrugging it away, you refocus. “Ready or not, here I come,” you announce to the silent house once reaching ten.

You sweep through the rooms upstairs, peeking into closets, under beds, between furniture. When you come up with no signs of Zach, you decide to head back downstairs. Your feet touches the last step, and you hear shushing from the living room. Grinning, you quietly tiptoe toward the soft noise.

Your eyes lock onto the bay window curtains that sway the slightest. Cautiously, you approach to grab one of the folds and jerk it back with a “gotcha!” What greets you is emptiness. You blink rapidly, expecting Zach to be there. There was no mistaking the curtain movements; it was so obvious and clear that you couldn’t chalk it up to paranoid imaginings even if you wanted to. Then another breeze, almost like a wisp of breathe, hits your hairline. Gasping, a hand slaps over the area of raised hair and you whip around to nothing.

_Relax, it’s just the heat._ Yet you’re suddenly on edge, the silence becoming overwhelming. You’re tempted to call the game off but hear the patter of feet from the kitchen. That is definitely Zach. With a sigh, you trail after the noise, glancing back at the alcove. Still nothing. Maybe you were seeing things. You stow your worries away for now, tearing through the kitchen, only to come up Zach-less.

“When did you get so good at this?” you ask out loud, more to yourself than him. Naturally, there’s no response. There’s only the bathroom left, so you check in there. You poke your head into an empty shower. Did he go upstairs?

So you go back up and hear a resounding thump and shuffling from the guest’s bedroom while you pass by. You slide up against the door, turning the knob in a slow twist and prepared to catch Zach in the act of scrambling for a hiding place. Then you hear a crash followed by Zach’s yelp from downstairs and you pause. Knowing you didn’t mistake the sound from the guest’s bedroom, you barge in. Again, nothing.

A splice of jarring fear clinches you, making it impossible to breathe. “What the hell?” You reel from the doorway, as if the room’s come alive and is about to devour you. Your eyes dart everywhere, seeking the source of sound. Nothing. Your insides constrict at the aspect of the undisturbed room.

Zach’s cry of your name draws you away from the ominous enclosed section. If it had been an intruder, he or she wouldn’t have had time to hide and the window would be open. It was only you and Zach in this house.

_And Xavier_ , you faintly think to yourself, shutting the door with vain hope that it might close off the impending aura brewing within.

You retreat from the door and sprint to the boy without a backwards glance. One comfort session with an ice pack to a skinned knee later, you question Zach on his imaginary friend.

“Where was he hiding?” you ask, putting the first-aid kit away.

“In the guest’s room,” he replies.

A fist closes around your throat. “Yeah?” you croak out.

“Uh-huh. He likes hiding under the beds or closets. That’s where he sleeps in my room.”

Speaking of sleep. You glance at the clock, seeing it’s nearing ten. “It’s almost time for bed, buddy. Let’s go wash up first, okay?”

You direct Zach to brush his teeth and change into pajamas. Paranoid, you watch him ascend the stairs, fearing that something might jump out from the guest’s room and snatch him; however, when he passes by with no incident, you release the breath you’re holding. While waiting, you remember the third plate left out for Xavier. You tell the boy to wait for you and go clean up, almost not wanting to leave him out of your sight.

The plate is empty.

You don’t move, seemingly cemented to the tiles as you eye the ceramic with streaks of sauce. Hardly breathing, choking on dread, you check the trash bin. There’s no pasta and leftovers are packed away in the fridge. Zach wouldn’t voluntarily do that. Icy terror slams into you, weakening you so that you cave in and grasp the counter for support.

“Is this a joke?” you whisper to the air. You refuse to touch the plate, backing away from it like it were a ticking time bomb seconds away from triggering.

You don’t believe in the supernatural, but the events playing out are beginning to make you doubt that notion. A tide of nausea drowns you, blistering into a cauldron of interweaving black and white vertigo that leaves you shaking. You need to be with Zach, now. Fleeing from the scene, you burst into his bedroom. He’s tittering beneath a hand like he’s been exchanging secrets. At your arrival, he brightens up.

“Can you read me this story? Mom started it yesterday night, but didn’t finish,” he asks, already with a specific book in hand. Instead of complying, you sit across him and gaze over his innocent features.

Maybe you’re being ridiculous, maybe you’re overthinking. There’s no way Xavier’s real. You repeat that over and over again, like a mantra that might save you from who knows what. Ghosts? Marginally calming your jumbled nerves, you pick up the book and begin reading him to sleep even though you wish for nothing more than to haul Zach and run out the front door. As the story progresses, you also lose yourself within the words, urgently seeking out a distraction. Zach is already hovering between the realms of consciousness and unconsciousness before you can finish, but you can’t help the question that falls from your lips.

“Did Xavier eat?” you ask, voice quivering with mounting fear.

The boy nods, yawning. “He said dinner was great. Can we make him some pancakes tomorrow? He likes it whenever mom makes them. I think that’s his favorite food.”

He prattles on and on, but your mind is stuck on his first words. “Aren’t you a little too old for imaginary friends?” you whisper, wanting to hear him agree more than anything.

His initial joy melts into puzzlement. “But Xavier isn’t imaginary.”

You slowly shake your head. “I can’t even see him.”

“He’s real, though. I don’t know why not everyone can see him. But it’s okay; I think Xavier still likes you a lot. He says you smell really nice, which is kind of weird. It makes him sound like a dog, right?”

You nearly fold into yourself, on the verge of panicking. Miraculously, you gather the strength to hold your place. You sink your teeth into the fleshy inside of your lip, fighting the urge to ruin his fun by reaffirming your disbelief of Xavier.

“Zach…” Defeated, you sigh heavily, feeling everything weighing you down.

He then points behind you. “But he’s right there; look.”

Your blood bursts through your veins, sending your heart wild in overdrive. With an agonizing pace, you turn, turn, turn and come face to face with twin white orbs against a black figure. You stop breathing, eyes growing to a painful size, and a scream rips from you. You recoil away from the monster that’s also backed away at your violent reaction, and you reach for a startled Zach with intentions of fleeing downstairs.

The second you take off, Xavier darts from its position and chases after you. You don’t make it far, only to the beginning of the stairs before it jumps in front of you, thwarting your plans for escape. It stands to full height, looming over you by, what looks to be, three whole feet. It looks exactly like described: tall, long limbs, black with glowing eyes, and a mouth that splits its face, showcasing a row of sharp maws. What Zach failed to mention was its colossal frame that ripples with intimidating muscles. Its body is so grotesque and nothing like a human’s, yet it is at the same time. And, gods, does it look the manifestation of raw fury.

Xavier growls at you, rigid and in the position to lunge should you make a movement. You back into the banister, arms coiled around the boy.

“W-what are you?!” you demand, trembling and overflowing with crippling terror that burns your eyes with tears. Xavier only releases a guttural, alien sound that rumbles from its throat, inching closer to you with a wicked snarl that contorts its entire face. “Stay away; don’t you dare come any closer!” you threaten in a pathetic attempt to ward it off.

Zach wriggles in your tight hold. “Wait, Xavier won’t do anything; he’s not bad, I promise!” he cries.

“Zach, that’s…I-I don’t know, that’s a monster, can’t you see?!” Never once do you take your eyes off the being.

Xavier takes another step with a menacing hiss, and you flinch. Just then, the boy slips from your clutches and sprints to the creature. It welcomes him into its arms, protectively cradling its companion and holding him away from you.

“No!” you jerk forth but freeze when the monster bares its teeth at you with a blood curdling screech that makes you back down. You stumble away, tripping on your feet and arms out to defend yourself.

“Xavier, stop!” It immediately obeys, hovering over you. “She didn’t mean it, she just got scared. She’s really nice, you saw it, too. I love her, and if you hurt her, I won’t forgive you.” Xavier bristles at the claim in disbelief but doesn’t make a move. “Let go of me, please?” It hesitates, but does as its asked.

You quickly scoop Zach up, cautiously eyeing Xavier and waiting for it to try anything. It crouches on its haunches, naked muscles swelling and coiling and imprisons you with its arms on both sides of you. A thundering growl reverberates from its body, like some warning sound. You’re surprised it hasn't broken the banister yet.

Zach, seeing the obvious tension, speaks up. “Please be nice to each other, I like you both a lot. I don’t want you guys to get hurt.”

“Zach, but he’s, its…” You lock eyes with the creature, shriveling up from its predatory stare.

“Just because he looks different doesn’t mean he’s bad,” Zach chastises.

And just like that, shame scorches you. Even a child knows better than you. Sighing, you shift the boy so he’s equally between you two but still keep a hand on him. Reluctantly, you say, “You’re absolutely right. I can’t judge anyone just because they don’t look like me; I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “You have to say sorry to Xavier.”

Swallowing through the grip on your throat, you face the creature who’s looking at you expectantly. “I…I’m sorry, Xavier,” you murmur after a stifling minute, earning a smile from Zach.

“Xavier, you say sorry, too, for scaring her.”

You don’t expect it to be able to speak, despite its mouth, but you certainly aren’t prepared for when it leans forward despite being so near already. Your faces are unbearably close that you feel its breath. You don’t move a muscle, anticipating whatever Xavier has in store for you. You watch it part its teeth and unfurls an elongated tongue in horror. Tense, you hold your breath as Xavier angles its head and lodges its face into the juncture of your throat. You jerk back, hitting the rods preventing you from moving. The monster wraps its enormous hand across your chest—huge enough to span beyond your width—to keep you in place, but you have an inkling suspicion that’s a display of power and dominance than anything else.

A strangled protest of a sound warbles from your lips, afraid he might bite out a chunk of your neck. Instead, it nuzzles into your pulse. A sort of purr releases from the being while it strokes its nose and cheek further into your jaw, like an attempt at imprinting. It’s not as bad as you dread until its tongue comes into play. The hot flesh laps the column of your throat without any qualms. You shriek, pushing it away with all your strength, which is nothing against Xavier. Somewhere among the heat of its tongue, the purring, and tight grip, Zach giggles.

Xavier is still slathering the entirety of your neck with the flat of its thick muscle that can wrap around your throat whole, while you’re fighting the urge to recoil in disgust at the thick saliva painting your skin. You’re surprised it isn’t toxic and burning through. Involuntarily, you tilt your head away to avoid its tongue, only to give it all the access it could want to the side of your neck. Gleefully, Xavier playfully gnaws on the skin. Nothing enough to break it, but enough to prick and make you scream in alarm, fueling your fear of being eaten.

“Okay, apology accepted!” you shriek out, fighting to escape. Thankfully, it lets up with a final nip. Positive you’re thoroughly traumatized and about to faint, you remind Zach of his bedtime.

“Aw, but I’m not tired anymore,” he pouts. He turns to Xavier for help, who only shakes its head.

“Come on, Zach.” You stand, mentally exhausted, and lead the boy back into his room. Xavier is on your heels. Again, you feel its breath, eliciting a terrified shiver.

You tuck Zach in, read him another story, and collapse into the guest’s room, leaving both doors open. Xavier slipped under his bed earlier, presumably sleeping. Initially you wanted to stay with Zach, but it seems the monster has been here for some time, and if it had intentions of hurting the boy it would have done so already. And you can’t rid of the image of it protecting him from you of all people. You trust it but you don’t.

You curl into yourself, letting the flow of emotions get the better of you. You cry. From relief or fear, you aren’t sure. A settling weight at the end of your bed slices through the moment and you bolt up with the comforter clutched to your neck scrubbed tender and raw. In the mesh of the darkness, you can see Xavier’s outline as it sits on its haunches once more. Neither of you do anything, heightening the pressure that makes you restless.

Finally, you’re brave enough to question him. “What do you want?”

Its head tilts, glowing eyes ever unblinking. Deliberately, Xavier crawls toward you. Even with its slowness, you let out a keening pitch and throw yourself against the cushioned headboard, predicting the worst now that Zach’s away.

You can’t formulate any words that may halt him. Instead of heeding your rejection, it advances right into your face, inches away. The proximity drives you to tussle out of the bed, but it's frighteningly quick. Xavier’s hand shoots out to capture you before you have the chance to break away. It drags you onto your back, pinning you there, and towers over you. Your breath comes out in short pants as your hands fly out to any part of it to hold it back.

“Please,” you gasp, an onslaught of tears blinding you, “please, don’t hurt me.”

Xavier shakes its head in negative. You still whimper, though, thousands of scenarios sprouting within your mind. Once again, it slowly descends its face toward you, only stopping when your noses are an inch apart, spurring a soft cry from your trembling lips. For the longest time, the monster does nothing but appraises you with such a staggering intensity you’re glad that you’re not standing.

You’re on the verge of lashing out, but a single finger strokes from your temple to your chin. Its touch is so startling ginger you find it hard to believe it’s from the same creature that was moments away from harming you earlier.

It rasps out a gravelly, “Don’t cry.”

You’re so shell-shocked that all you can do is nod.

“Good. Night night,” it whispers, feathering its finger over your tear streaks.

Your eyes flutter once. “Good—good night,” you whisper back. The second it slithers into the darkness and out of your temporary room, you curl back into fetal position, wondering what happened. That night you fall into a fitful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> © 2018 backstage_rebel_girl  
> constructive criticism is appreciated. thank you for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some content have been added and changed.

There’s a divot beside you, and sleep recedes from your mind, like the waters from a seafoam shore before a furling wave. It’s a troubling prospect to you, who’s been through hours careening between waking to sleeping in minute intervals. You decide to give up, realizing the impracticality of wishful thinking that maybe Xavier is truly a nonexistent imaginary friend.

Once you manage to crack open your fatigue-leaden eyelids, you blink in rapid succession to alleviate the aggressive strain throbbing somewhere within your eyes. After collecting you bearings, you come to a harsh understanding that Xavier is, indeed, contiguous and not a friend that Zach decided to one day concoct.

If you're being honest, Xavier isn’t the most enchanting person to wake up to, not after the experience taking place hours earlier that has been and always will be branded to your memories. The monster is still the same surrealistic character, the quintessence of every horror-fueled element, only it isn’t inclined to maim you at the moment. That doesn't mean you're no longer frightened of it, because you still are. So your eyes drift toward the cherubic boy who is very much human and easier on the eyes. He can use a brushing through his sleep-mussed hair.

You’re besides relieved that he’s unscathed and alive to share a morning with you. Without hesitation, you stretch a hand to card your fingers through his tousled mane in an affectionate habit. Instinctively, he admits the action with delight, his signature smile shadowing the corners of his mouth. He disengages from your touch after a second of guilty indulgence, encouraging you to properly sit up so he isn’t talking down to you.

Without any further prompting, you rise on your elbows until you can lean on the headboard, strategically shifting your body away from the monster that you now notice is mesmerized by the exhibit.

“Can we make pancakes?” Zach asks the same question from the night before, pulling you back to attention.

Cued by recollection of your first meeting with the monster followed by a sleepless night, you momentarily shut your eyes. No exaggeration, you’re positive exhaustion is lacing through the veins of your weary optics.

“I feel like I blinked and morning hit,” you confess, glancing at a clock mounted on a wall that reads eight in the morning and wanting nothing more than to throw back some over-the-counter drugs to knock you out for a solid nine hours. “But we gotta eat at some point, right? Go wash up and I’ll meet you downstairs.” You grant him a tired smile, pushing back a yawn throttling you.

He grins, zipping to the bathroom without so much as a gesture to follow him, and effectively forsaking you with Xavier as inevitable company. While you’d rather not be on the receiving end of its wrath, you’re still possessed with fear to attempt any peace or civility for that matter. Besides that little misunderstanding of Xavier nearly about to cleave you in half for stealing (protecting) Zach from it, not once has it terrorized you in any other way. As reluctant as you are to admit that the monster appears to be conciliatory, you can't ignore it. Zach is right, though: you shouldn't be daunted by it—no, him. You shouldn't be daunted by him for his appearance alone.

You only just catch on that you’re listlessly gawking at Xavier, who in turn, stares right back. Your eyes clash, like the sparking collision of two blades grating on the other. His deadpan countenance is unnerving. It will take some time to be around him without feeling on the verge of panicking or hyperventilating, but you tell yourself it's more progress than outright refusing to try.

“Um,” you begin weakly, flinching when he slants his head at the oddest angle to peer at you. “I, well, I, uh, have to change and—and, um, I’d appreciate it if you leave. Please.” His stoicism is making it hard to breathe. “Please,” you near beg with brittle effort.

He doesn’t answer, at least not at once or directly. From what you can observe from a distance, Xavier is more than content to eye you with a stare that tramples your backbone. You visibly wilt under his too white eyes, frantically wondering if you managed to slip onto his bad side with the timorous request. After an eon of punishing silence, he does the last thing you expect: he reaches out to effortlessly extract the comforter from your white-knuckled grip—as if peeling the skin from an orange—revealing your bottomless state, roves his eyes over you with such a blatant look, and then crooks a finger into the collar of your shirt to tug it forward until you go with lest you want it yanked off from your person.

“Scared?” he asks, and you want to wither away. Xavier hardly moves anymore than he already has, simply remaining in form with his perfectly hunched back, yet still managing to be taller than you.

You don’t know if this is a test, curiosity, or sadism. Hoping for the most innocuous choice, since you didn’t detect any patronizing in the inquiry, you reply, “A little,” which is the lie of the century. Who can blame you? No one would enjoy being interrogated by a behemothic monster that can carry out harm.

Xavier deliberately leans into your bubble, breaking the surface; it seems to be something of a quirk he’s often prone to. His eyes narrow and he pulls an inch more. “Lie.” The word hits you in the stomach.

A shuddering breath flows from your quivering mouth at the single syllable that seeps into your blood and poisons it with a density too great for your emotional mentality. “A—a lot,” you profess in a broken whimper, having to look away because he's too fucking close and it’s terrifying, and, yet, for some inexplicable reason you don't think he will hurt you for this one, even with his clutch on you.

A satisfied hum of sorts channels from his being. “Scared.” It’s no more of a question than it is a statement. Whether through coercion or not, he knew as much and just wanted you to come to terms with it yourself.

You hate how he knows. You hate more that you’re trying not to let your instinctive reactions control you when faced with the monster, but he still knows. “Yes,” you say, a hoarse whisper.

You startle at the stroke of a finger along your furrowed brows that releases the tension there.

“No crying, ‘member?” His head comically tilts sideways, parallel with the floor and ceiling while the remainder of his figure doesn’t flow with the movement at all. His words are disjointed the slightest, you hear. He must still be learning how to speak, if his limited vocabulary is any indication. You nod, attempting a subtle withdrawal from his closeness.

“It’s ‘remember’, not ‘member’,” you say, a gentle correction. It slips out before you can stop it, and you fear you’ve spoken out of line, coiling within yourself or as much as you can.

Xavier ponders a bit, instead of screeching at you. “Re—re’member,” he tries.

Your surprised by his effort. “Remember,” you say softer.

His finger deviates from your brow to the apex of your cheek, silently mouthing the word over and over again. This time, you aren’t alarmed by the contact, but it's still foreign. How is it possible for him to be this careful, to regard you with such delicacy? You pull back a little, still caught by the finger hooked to your shirt that may end up being stretched out.

Again, you say, “Remember.”

“Re. . .” he repeats just as tender, “remember.”

“Yes.” You’re relieved, believing he’ll let you go now that he's established his suspicions and learned how to correctly pronounce ‘remember’. He doesn’t, picking back up his focus on you.

“Remember?” His fingers dust just the fine hairs of your face. He can’t be any closer but he makes it so.

Taming your haywire nerves to the best of your ability, you agree with him, wishing that if you do he’ll finally let you go. “I remember: no crying.”

Your words elicit a content rumble, a noise you find yourself creasing your brows at. “Good.” Xavier unhooks his finger from your neckline, instead choosing to plant the giant hand atop your crown, the other still suspended in the air just a literal hair-widths away from petting your cheek. “Good girl.”

Zach returns then, cutting through the atmosphere and your chance at letting out an unattractive “what?” at the term of endearment, if you can call it that. You’re more than glad for the interruption, but you have issues about flashing your panties to an eight year-old. You scramble for the blanket for coverage, forgetting how close Xavier is and ramming into him during the process. He doesn’t even jerk from the connection, bracing against your sudden weight as if you’re nothing. In fact, he’s now devoting his attention to Zach, disregarding you like a forgotten thought. No matter, you save your modesty and flash a stiff smile Zach’s way.

Zach is blissfully ignorant, on the edge of impatience. “Come on, guys,” he urges.

“We will, I just have to change first,” you say, glad to be detached from the monster’s hands and gaining back your breathing space. The boy gives you a confirming nod, turning to leave you two alone, once more. You lay an expectant look on Xavier who has yet to alter his holding position. He blinks, and then returns his gaze upon you.

“Change,” he says, sounding as if he finally registers what you’ve been trying to tell him all this time.

“Yes, I'd like to do that, but, uh, I can’t when you're still here.”

And he has the gall to blankly stare at you. “Change now.” It’s neither a request or a command, but a telling.

You hear Zach call your name, and you realize with dread that Xavier isn’t going to leave. It’s not as if he hasn’t already seen you half naked, and you only need to pull on something to keep your ass relatively warm. That isn’t remotely reassuring. You feel as though you and the bed are two slabs of wet glass cemented together, and that might be the most literal interpretation yet. With the last of your courage at your fingertips, you agonizingly disentangle your body from the cocoon of blanket and side step toward the feet of the bed where your pants hang. You slip them on with no hitch, ignoring the way he watches you, and leave the room without ever chancing a look back at the monster. You’ll be tossing that bit into the back of your mind to never pull up again.

Pancakes are a bed of roses, although you can do without Xavier on top of you as you mix the batter and cook the conventional breakfast. While Zach is having the time of his life creating a masterpiece on his hill of pancakes with fruits and cream, Xavier simply douses his _mountain_ of pancakes with syrup. He holds his fork, which is significantly tiny in his closed fist, prongs skyward and pierces the circular mass of fluff glistening in an even coat of treacle right in the middle. You watch, utterly enraptured, the way his mouth opens and sinks into the breakfast cake. He lacerates his meal with an surprising elegance that doesn't represent anything like what an ill-mannered monster humans think are supposedly only capable of. If you think it can't become any stranger, how wrong you are to foolishly assume that, because a monster is having breakfast with you.

In a matter of seconds, Xavier devours the pancake, his tongue snaking out to capture stray crumbs or streaks of syrup along the way. In that moment, he catches you staring with a carefully indifferent facade, and he glides that thick, dexterous muscle over his row of teeth. He either has done that unconsciously or purposely to intimidate you, and it does either way. You can't decide which path of meeting death is more favorable. Instead of contemplating, you reach for a bowl of fruit and munch on those as you wait for the two to finish before clean up time.

With a filled belly, a food coma interweaving with an unforgiving loss of sleep hits you hard. Halfway into the middle of Zach playing a video game, you doze off into sleep right on the couch. Originally, you wanted to stay awake with Zach, still weary of an ever present Xavier, but exhaustion snuck up on you with no warning. The pair of friends are generous enough to leave you be until lunch time, letting you catch those pesky z’s that taunted you by dangling out of reach. You conquer them, and, gods, is it a glorious conquest. When Zach decides to finally shake you awake, you moan at the crick knotted right on the side of your neck.

“What's wrong?” the boy asks, ceasing his nudging of your arm.

You brush away his concern. “Just slept wrong. Sore neck is all,” you say with a palm to where the abused muscle protests. “Don't worry; let's go make some lunch.”

“I want to play tag after!” And he’s gone before you can mention that there's not much room to play that inside, especially if a certain monster is planning to participate.

Before you saunter after Zach, who you can hear shuffle through the fridge, Xavier appears before you. You jump a little, forgetting that in spite of his Herculean physique he’s quick and quiet as a shadow.

“Um,” is all you can mutter when he dips his head to eye your neck. Your body locks up when he extends a hand to the tender area and caresses it with that same, shocking gentleness you will never be able to understand why he applies it to you.

Your eyes meet, and he clasps both of your arms. His overwhelmingly warm hands encase the entirety of your torso they're that huge. Undecided on how to respond, you don't at all, incredibly tense and anticipating his next course of action. Again, an unpredictable being as always, Xavier dives forth at your throat so quick you can’t even squawk. You don’t know what you're waiting for, but he doesn't bite or lick or do anything except breathe at the sore. You would assume he's apologizing, as he’s done this the night before, but he doesn't go there. Not yet.

Zach pokes back into the living room and balks at the scene. “What's he. . .doing?” he asks, face scrunching sharply.

You’re much more baffled and apprehensive than him at the moment, words dissolving in your short-circuited brain. You can only gape like a fish on land, looking at Zach helplessly, because you physically can't do anything more than that.

“Xavier?” He approaches without concern, but halts when you hold up a hand. You’ll never forgive yourself if he gets hurts, even if the monster isn’t likely to harm his friend. You won't risk it, however.

After a dragging moment, he withdraws, still holding you. “No hurt,” he says.

You stare at him, bewildered and frantic. “What?” you choke out, a hand flying to where he was inspecting. Was he looking for an injury? You flutter your gaze to Xavier. “No. . .hurt,” you repeat, amazed, and horrified.

“You’re funny, Xavier. Now let's go!” Zach whines, yanking on both your limbs.

Lunch is a quiet and passing affair. It's still bizarre seeing a huge monster, who can barely fit in a dining chair, sit at a table and eat food so casually. It's so utterly mundane, scenic, and a bit humorous. You think of Lucy and Samuel; if they walked in this very moment, would they be able to see Xavier? Would Lucy faint, cry, run? Would Samuel? And you recall the way you just about screamed your lungs to exhaustion, witnessing what you were told as a child was fictitious but came to be as real as you and the rest of the world's population.

“How long have you been friends, Zach?” you ask, interrupting his story telling. He counts on his fingers before looking back up from his lap to answer you.

“I met him on dad’s birthday,” he says.

Mentally, you count the days back. Nearly three weeks. “What kind of monster is he?” What he says next has you out of your seat.

“A boogeyman.”

Another session of comfort later, this time for your sake, you dissect the information fed to you. Zach can understand Xavier flawlessly despite his broken English; he may be a boogeyman meant to punish children for appalling behavior, but Zach is so well behaved and the only one to have welcomed him he decided to stick around; and only children are meant to see him.

“How come I can see him?” You look Xavier up and down, almost in a gesture of seeing him for the first time but minus the fear.

Zach shrugs, lacking the knowledge to answer that anomaly. “Maybe because he wants you to see him?”

Xavier speaks up for him, reminding you that he’s right there. You feel guilty for referring him in third person. “See.” He strides to a nearby window, flicking the curtain until it swings a few times before settling still.

“I don’t. . .” you trail off, watching him eat up the distance between you two. He makes a sharp swivel, coming up behind you, and your eyes blow wide at the familiar breath tickling over the baby hairs at your nape. A shiver climbs up your spine, aware of how close he is for you to feel that. It's because you believe in him, just like children do. “Oh,” you mumble, rubbing your nape and starting when the back of your fingers chafe his lips and nose. Oh. He presses into them, and you freeze. _Oh._

“Does that mean you're friends with Xavier now?”

The question drops down into your stomach. You slip your hand away, dragging across bared teeth that weren't present moments ago. Thankfully, Xavier shifts away. “I’m trying,” you admit, knowing you’ll crush Zach with deceit.

It's no favorable for the boy than it is for you, and you don't want to be intimate with any repercussions should Xavier deem you a hazard to _his_ boy. You wouldn't voluntarily leap at the chance to battle him for Zach, but to deny the competitive envy thrumming in your veins is to gift the boy to Xavier. He holds a place in your heart, and you have no intentions of letting the monster steal him away from you.

Zach is happy with your answer. “He doesn't look scary, he just looks different from us, and he likes you a lot. I think you’ll like him, too.”

Xavier pats his head, humming when the boy beams at him. You watch the interaction with soft awe, seeing love in such a raw form.

“Yeah,” you say under your breath, and Xavier glances at you, angling his head just the barest amount. For a change, you offer him a gentle gaze, and for another change, he’s the one who straightens and takes in your expression, as if surprised.

“Now can we play tag?”

You huff a nervous laugh, side-eyeing Xavier as you do so. “We’ll have to be careful,” you warn. “Let’s play in the basement,” you suggests, which is a good idea, especially considering Xavier’s size.

Like shocked to life, Zach speeds halfway, stops to turn back around to put his plate in the sink, and continues his journey to the basement. You chuckle at how easily pleased that boy is at times. Waving that away, you pick up the remaining dishes only to have Xavier offer them to you. Surprised, you crane your head up to blink at him.

“Thank you,” you say, trying not to let the nape episode get to you. Shyly, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and then relieve him of the dishes.

“Welcome.”

“ _You’re_ welcome.”

His head quirks. “You’re.”

“Yes,” you assure. “You’re welcome.”

“You’re welcome.”

He’s a fast learner; impressive. “Good,” you praise, noting the elation gentling his features.

You mean to resume your task, but Xavier halts you by plaiting a stray lock behind your ear, copying what you did. His long fingers then land and curl around your neck and into your hairline, while the side of his thumb strokes the knotted muscle underneath. You remain painfully still—riotous heart, slack face, and wild thoughts—not knowing if he plans to do a reenactment of the seeking mission.

“Like,” he says, a vague statement.

Your words scatter when his thumb finds way to your collarbone, traces the dip, and burns a path up the column of your parched throat to your chin to your ashen lips—

You backpedal immediately. “Let’s get ready to play,” you blurt, making a hasty exit and leaving him behind.

You learn the mistake of playing a game, which involves chasing. Zach sets the stage real quick with a declaration of who will be It: Xavier. Your blood chills when the boy gives the cue to start. He dashes away, leaving you in the open for preying. The giant monster looks to you, and neither of you move for a second. In that split second, your fight or flight instincts triggers, but you know your chances of fighting him off are little to none. The slightest movement from Xavier and you bolt. You can hear the scrap of his blunt claws against the carpet, and just knowing he’s running after you makes you scream. Zach is giggling away, weaving through furniture and obstacles, despite being at a safe distance. Gods, this was the worst idea you have ever agreed to.

Xavier won’t hurt you, you realize; however, it doesn’t take away the fear of being chased by a creature with claws and teeth. If he tags you, that’s that, but you’re unwilling to become caught. Thus your promise to keep the game within the basement flies out the window. You clamber up the stairs in hopes of escaping the heavy pants following close behind. You suspect Xavier is enjoying this far too much. Before you make it any further than the doorway, his huge hands snatch you up by the waist. Instantly, you’re squirming.

“Okay, okay, you tagged me!” you say, pulling at his fingers to indicate you want down now.

Xavier obeys, setting you on your feet with extra care. Despite his gentleness, you’re still high on adrenaline, and you don’t exactly like it. Zach comes trudging up soon after, frowning a bit.

“Xavier, you didn’t even try chasing me.”

The boogeyman pats the boy on his head to comfort him. You take the chance to change the game.

“Let’s go outside and built a fort instead.”

You lock yourself inside the guest’s room, and you’re shaking insanely. Fine, you admit it: you’re still scared to some fair degree, but it has dropped considerably. Scrap that: the fear has morphed. You’re aware of his strength and harm he can do, but he won't do it, because he loves Zach and you’re Zach’s friend. You fear the monster’s behavior toward you.

You shouldn’t be accustomed to his touch, but it's difficult to keep it that way with his lack of boundaries. You understand he has his own standards concerning behavior. After all, he’s a boogeyman, not a human, and you doubt he'll conform to human traditions. You won't have the privilege of personal space the longer you associate with Xavier.

Perhaps you’re being ridiculous. He may be curious is all, which explains his interest in you. A friend of Zach’s is his friend. Some more wishful thinking? You suspect you aren’t far from the marker. For now, you cast your worries and layer up. Time to build a fort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> © 2018 backstage_rebel_girl  
> constructive criticism is appreciated. thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

The fort takes less than an hour to construct; it rises just shy of an inch taller than Zach, compelling you to crouch to find safety behind the structure; has a designated opening as the entrance and exit; and a supply of snowballs piled in the corner. Xavier opts to watch from afar on the porch untouched by the white fluff, while you and the boy, on the other hand, ensue a war. He accomplishes quite a few successful hits at you, and you can only manage to scoop fistfuls of snow to toss into the air that breaks halfway and sprinkles rather than hit. By the time the front yard is gouged from your usage and your nose begins to drip, you call time to head back inside. You snap a quick picture of Zach in his fort before the three of you shuffle into the harvesting warmth of the house that welcomes you.

It’s strange that a little fun momentarily blurs Xavier from the world, a speck of paint smudged away into the canvas just in the backdrop. You almost forget that it’s not just you and Zach, almost.

As soon as the door shuts, the snow on your outerwear begins melting. Afraid of getting anything else wet, you have Zach and yourself strip off your winter accessories to hang them by the entrance to dry. Once done, you encourage him and Xavier to run off and play while you handle a simple dinner. Your third meal with the boogeyman is less outlandish, and this time Zach asks his friend to help clean up to make up for all the meals you cooked for them. The scene of the hulking monster carrying out a banal chore, and quite well, is just as bizarre as everything else about him, but you’re leaning to just go along with it. As reward for the aide, you suggest a movie night and prepare some hot cocoa and snacks.

When you reunite with the pair, they’ve built yet another fort, this time consisting of pillows and blankets. What’s troubling isn’t the idea of Xavier joining you, it’s that he has Zach cozied on his lap and is taking up three-quarters of the space within the nest, essentially leaving you with no room to make yourself comfortable. The other, minor problem is that you don’t want to disturb the image, feeling as if you’re intruding into an entirely different dimension not meant for you. You set the tray before them, grab your mug, and intend on taking a seat in a nearby armchair. You manage a single step but are unable to finish the short journey to your claimed seat because a familiarly gigantic hand has folded around your middle with the softest pressure. The fingers lock, giving you no chance of leaving the grip.

You twist at the spine, shaping an uncomfortable angle to peer back at Xavier and Zacharie. While the blonde boy is occupied singling out a favorable movie from a vast selection on a shelf, the boogeyman has anchored you where you stand with the weight of his stare and his constraint. One word spools into the air, deep and thundering with the barest hint of a rasp, yet simultaneously tender and mellow.

“Stay.”

You can’t say why or remotely fathom how a casual saying makes you stop. The request is so simple yet such a brunt to your heart. A single word shouldn't have such impacting power as it does. If that isn’t enough to weaken you, then the near imperceptible way he clenches his grasp, cants his head as he always does, and repeats the invitation with a pastel approach that subdues the preeminence cording his entirety finishes the job. Perhaps it’s the exposure or the tones of Stockholm Syndrome that melts the ice lodged in your heart bit by bit or that you’re finally letting go of denial and seeing him for him. Whatever the case may be, you end up twisting completely around (while still in his hand, mind you) and let Xavier guide you into the fort.

You don’t notice Zach’s smile, not with the way the boogeyman effortlessly lifts and thrones you between the wide gap of his thick legs that serve as an armrest, his muscled front a backrest, and his burly arms caging you in. You don’t think you can ever forget the surge of warmth that bleeds to your bones while literally wrapped up in a huge monster of pure heat. You catch a content sigh before it slips, but you can't stop your body from betraying natural reaction, gradually molding into Xavier as he continues emitting and circulating heat enough to rival a sauna. When he begins his unique hum that rumbles through every part of him, you fleetingly think he'd make a good recliner chair, having to fight the impulse to close your eyes.

Zach finally settles on a movie and dives back into the nest. Xavier readily welcomes him, carefully positioning him beside you. He immediately curls into you, nudging for you to reciprocate with an arm around him, to which you gladly comply.

Xavier, without a streak of doubt, catches the little action and grows curious. You feel him become restless, locking his hands together to keep the both of you encircled and to pull you both impossibly close. Since you're fairly taller than Zach, your head is much closer to Xavier’s access. He dips his chin until it must be touching his chest, prodding the side of your face. You’re at a loss of what to do, refusing to make a move, that is until his modest pushing becomes insistent digging right into your jaw that the force moves your head.

Zach is absorbed in the film and is a lost cause to help you. With no other choice than to appease the boogeyman’s seeking, you raise your unoccupied arm and rest a hand on his arm. He pauses, as if determining the value of the touch, and then resumes his nudging when he deems the simple contact insufficient. Beyond perplexed and nervous, you will enough courage to bring your hand toward his head and rest it on whatever you can reach at the odd angle. Your fingers land on his head, he stills, and you grant him a couple pats and strokes before retreating like you’ve touched a pot that was still hot. Before you can plunge your hand back into the safety of your lap, Xavier recaptures the limb. He switches the direction of his head, looking over your opposite shoulder this time and giving you relief. He situates your hand back over his head now tucked into the slope of your neck.

You grow taut when the ridge of his lips drift over your tattooing pulse, fearing that his harpoon teeth and massive tongue might peek out at any time; however, that’s the least of your concerns, at the moment: you won’t be able keep your arm suspended in this position for however long Xavier wants, but he’s still shackling your wrist and keeping your hand captive. Already, you feel blood draining and the effects of its loss. Not wanting to disrupt the quiet or ask Zach for help, you try freeing your appendage yourself, praying to whatever gods that Xavier will be merciful. The slightest pull elicits a soft growl of displeasure, halting you instantly. Praying was too good to be true, anyway.

What the hell are you supposed to do?

Thinking quick, you begin to purposefully fidget. “Hey, I’m gonna head to the bathroom real quick,” you announce, hoping that will work. Zach gives his acknowledgement, removing his weight so you can leave, but Xavier still has yet to release you, so you’re left standing with his hand covering your entire arm. “Xavier,” you hiss, meaning for it to be for the boogeyman, but the boy hears anyway.

He glances away from the screen and does a double take. It takes but a moment to assess your predicament and another to settle on what to say. “Xavier, what are you doing?”

Said boogeyman doesn’t even react to the question, hardly glimpsing Zach’s way and rather intent on preventing you from running away. In any other situation, you would be flattered by the devout attention and handsy behavior, since you’re partial to contact, but in context this isn’t the most first-rate position you would consider jumping into. You can’t claim to know Xavier on a personal level, not like Zach, but even his conduct toward you is worrisome. He’s curious, you give him that, and you don’t wholly blame him for wanting to, for a lack of a better word, experiment on you. Based on that alone, it’s clear that the boy has been his only company in those three weeks.

The again, how is it that Xavier has known Zach for three weeks and hasn’t wanted to wander off at some point? It seems impractical to remain glued to Zach’s side without becoming curious about his parents. As soon as that thought registers, you scrap it. Xavier is meant for children; he would care less about Lucy and Samuel. He isn’t visible to just anyone and wouldn’t be well-received if he were. You must be the first adult he’s closely interacted with. That, in no way, helps you. He’s well associated with Zach, but you’re still a stranger, and from what you’ve learned in a day is that he has no trouble exploring foreign territory.

“Let her go, silly,” Zach says, setting his mug down when his friend doesn’t react.

Xavier gives a keening grunt, but does as he’s told after hesitating. The way he peers up at you from his bowed head and quickly averting them resembles a dog who’s just been scolded. You refrain from sprinting to the bathroom the second you’re free. Unfortunately, you can’t stay cooped in there until the film is over. Eventually, you collect yourself and return. Thankfully, Xavier is less inclined to imitate the affectionate gesture, so you’re safe for now. For the endurance of the movie, you remain within his clutch, though, but it doesn’t serve as a dilemma as you initially dreaded. Once the ending comes rolling in, you prompt Zach to get ready for bed while you clean up, a task needed more for the purpose of calming you than anything else. The boy’s already changed and in bed by the time you’re done stalling. As per usual, you read him the continuation of the story from the previous night, finishing it and let him sleep. Xavier slips into the closet this time, leaving the door ajar.

You conclude the day with a needed shower, a hot shower. You soak for an hour, letting the steam build up and the scalding water seep into your muscles. Stepping out of the bathroom feels more refreshing than you anticipated. Nothing else competes a hot shower in the middle of winter. By the time you make it into the guest’s room and check the time, it’s almost ten. Absently, you rid of your body towel, keeping your hair in a makeshift turban, and grab your body lotion. You’ll need to be up early to make Zach some breakfast before sending him off to school. Lucy and Samuel should be home before their son returns from school. You hope to clean up around a bit before leaving for home after a long weekend. It’s a shame you’ll be returning to work immediately.  

You’re in the process of smoothing lotion into your arm when the door creaks. Your heart ricochets, and you dart to wound your towel around you, afraid that Zach might get an accidental peek. You whip to face the door and see it closed as you left it. It’s the night before all over again, a rush of unpleasant memories rushing forth. There’s that wave, crashing over your head and drowning you in an ocean of blackness. You can kick and flail as much as you want, but you only sink further the more you struggle. The deeper you’re pulled down, the colder you become, unable to fight the boreal waters that fills up your lungs and stomach and freeze your limbs useless.

No matter how you look at it, no matter how you turn it around, flip it, break it down, you’re still an immutable, flawed human who can’t see pass the exterior. Even when you can see the love he has for Zach, even when he’s trying harder than you to attempt an equal standing, you can’t—maybe you won’t, and you hate yourself for being so fucking afraid. Of what? Of a big, bad monster that will eat you? That’s absolute child’s play. You’re better than that, far better than this pathetic person cowering all because he looks different. Xavier had every right to want to tear through your throat for taking Zach.

_Alright, enough beating myself up; open your eyes and look at him. This is it, this is what he is and will always be. Suck it up._

You clear your throat once and attempt calling out. “Xavier?” Your voice rattles against the empty walls.

You don’t know where to expect him to pop out from, but when the closet slides open you don’t even gape in surprise, somehow foreseeing that. You snatch for the blanket, needing more coverage as the boogeyman stalks out of the darkness that drapes around him like a cloak, like it’s part of him, and stands before you, looking curious as ever. He says your name in question, glowing eyes sweeping your wrapped body.

“Uh, wait,” you blurt out, waving a hand out to prevent him from coming any closer. “You can’t be here, I’m changing.”

“Changing?” he says, as if recalling something.

Shit. “No, no; it’s not the same as before! Look, I—I’m naked, and I need to be alone to put clothes on.” The more that spews out from your mouth, the more ridiculous you feel. You look at him, _really_ look at him, briefly choke on nothing, and you feel like your brain has been wrung dry and shriveled. How can you be this oblivious? For now, you blame being controlled by your fear to belatedly notice that Xavier is stark naked. Automatically, your eyes drop down his muscled body to where his unmistakable...phallus just hangs in the open. Another excuse: his skin is as black as pure darkness, making it nearly impossible to tell details. Nearly. That explains quite a few pointers.

“Change,” is all he says.

You sigh, nearly collapsing your lungs. Of course, it won’t be that easy to make him comprehend the customs of humans. It’s not as if there are clothes made to fit him; he’s taller than the tallest human and wouldn’t even be able to fit his head into the shirt to begin with. Then again, if others are capable of seeing a shirt yet not Xavier, they’ll just see a ‘floating’ item.

“Xavier, I don’t know if Zach taught you this, but humans need privacy when changing. Since we wear clothes, that means we don’t like being naked in front of everybody, not like you,” you say.

Xavier shakes his head, either because he still doesn’t understand or doesn’t want to comply. “Want to look.” It’s the latter.

You swear you might faint, the telltale signs of a head rush blinding you. “Why?” you nearly screech out, grasping the bed for support.

He takes a step, you scramble further up on the mattress. “Different.” He points to his chest, and then to you, closing the space more by another step.

“But I—I…” you can’t find the words to say to convince him to leave or at least stop him from nearing. He wants to watch because your body is different from his? If you weren’t standing in this situation, you’d think you just volunteered yourself for some scientific dissection lab. If previous encounters serve right, and they damn do, he won’t be stopping any time soon, not by your word. You hate that you have to rely on Zach for help.

“No hurting,” he promises, as if that will ease your mind and let him do his bidding as he pleases. “Let me.” And he’s in front of your before you can move.

You choke on a gasp, batting away his reaching hands. “Wait!” You grip the blanket like it’s your life as he sinks his fingers into the material and tugs. “Stop, I—” He rids of the sheet as easily as he had this morning. You only have the towel as coverage. “Xavier!” For the first time, the closest representation of anger taints your voice. His name is a broken melody of mounting irritation at his lack of courtesy.

Out of anything, it’s that call that stops him, the tone of ire directed at him. He retreats his hands but doesn’t move from where he stands, which is far too close for your liking. He is just like a child, needing a firm handling. The longer you don’t say anything, the more he sinks onto his haunches in a sort of submissive gesture.

You ensure that your towel is securely knotted before standing on your feet and facing the boogeyman patiently awaiting for your next words. You further exaggerate your spoiled mood by crossing your arms pursing your lips in a slight frown.

“Xavier,” you begin, “I know you aren’t human, and—and that’s not a bad thing. You still have a lot to learn if you want to stay with Zach. He’s only a kid, so he doesn’t know everything. I don’t either, but...look, just—can you at least respect my space? I know I don’t really deserve it with the way I’ve acted toward you, and to be honest, I still am scared. Well, not necessarily scared, but more like nervous being around you. Even if you’re curious and all and tend to push me to the edge, I can tell you’re a good guy—uh, I mean, boogeyman. I know, but I just don’t want to accept it, because, well, yeah. I’m trying to be better, though. ”

Xavier ponders for a moment, taking in your confession word by word. He looks up at you in an angle and says, “Okay.”

Your shoulders sag in relief, but it’s short lived. Only a gasp weaves out, as the boogeyman cradles you to him. He plant his face into your neck, nuzzling into the skin to apologize. You can’t decide whether you should push him away, even if you won’t be able to move him, or to accept it. You just let it happen, waiting for it to pass. Not a moment later, his tongue lolls out to taste your throat. You knew it would come soon, but the heat still surprises you.

“Okay, okay,” you breathe out. He pulls away and his faces pinches the slightest. That’s the first expression, aside from anger, you’ve seen from him. “Is that how boogeymen say sorry?”

He shakes his head. “Only like,” he simply says, using his knuckles to tap your chin before lifting a finger to trace the trail up. While your fear has abated some, your heart is still pummeling inside your chest and you aren’t sure what’s to happen next. You turn away the slightest, and he dutifully follows the direction. “Um, next time you can just say ‘sorry’,” you respond, again, not understanding what he means with his limited vocabulary.

He says your name again, a mere sigh.

“Yes?”

Again, your name falls from his lips. “Like.” He’s touching your lips, a chance you didn’t give him earlier, and the meaning of the word sinks in when he does.

Suddenly, he’s too close, too warm, too much everything. In the heat of the moment, your hands land on his broad shoulders but quickly snatch them back at the feel of bare skin. You’re aware of every little detail. It’s far too much.

“Can you please leave? I want to go to sleep.”

He hums and takes his leave, becoming shadow the second he steps into the closet. You fall onto the bed as one phrase runs through your mind: he likes you.

* * *

You’re awake hours before Zach is even supposed to prepare for school, but that’s alright; you’re basking in the silence, finding peaceful emptiness is watching color stain the sky as the minutes tick off. An hour before eight, you begin an easy breakfast of french toast, infusing the kitchen with the saccharine aroma rich enough to tingle the underside of your tongue. You turn the fire on low, heading upstairs to wake Zach up. The last thing you see before returning to the kitchen is the boy entering into the bathroom, mouth stretched wide in a noisy yawn and a hand scrubbing through his blonde hair sticking every which way. You resume cooking, plating a serving dish with an unnecessary amount of crispy, sugared toast.

Zach’s laugh echoes as he makes his way down, Xavier following him on his heels. He lights up the moment he spots the choice of breakfast, hurrying to seat himself and make his own plate.

“Not too much syrup, Zacharie,” you lightly scold, knowing he’s pouting without having to turn around to see. You join the pair after grabbing some orange juice and three cups. Your final breakfast together is uneventful, filled with even chatter from Zach.

Once done, you usher him to get ready to leave. He bids Xavier farewell with a hug and returns to your side.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Zach says, avoiding patches of ice on the pavement as the two of you walk to his bus stop.

“You say that like we’re never going to see each other again, silly,” you laugh, tenderly patting his covered head.

“But I don’t see you a lot anymore.”

You squeeze him to your side. “That’s because your mom is able to be home for you after school. It’s not like I won’t see you anymore. You can always visit me or I can visit you, and when your mom and dad want to go out, you know I’ll be there.”

He doesn’t say anything in return for a long moment. “Last night, I told Xavier that today would be the last day you’ll be babysitting me.”

You falter. “Oh, yeah?”

“He was really sad. I mean, I told him you’ll come back again, but…”

Neither of you say anything after that. Other children are similarly waiting with guardians or friends, giggling and goofing around. It’s not until the iconic bus rounds the corner that you blurt out, “What if I come over once a month to babysit you for a night?” It’s out before you even comprehend.

“Really?!” Zach gasps.

A moment of pause. “Yeah.” You smile down at him. He gives you a hug before hopping onto the bus. You wave at him as it drives off. Upon returning, you find Xavier standing where you two left him. “I’m gonna clean up a bit before leaving,” you say.

It doesn’t take long. The boogeyman stays out of your way, but watches you intently. You tidy up the guest’s room, and pack up the little belongings you brought for the weekend. At the door, you layer up once again. He grabs your arm before you step out. The whine that leaves him stings you. Sighing, you drop your bag and turn to wrap your arms around his torso. Immediately, his arms snake around you. Frankly, you don’t know why you said what you did or are doing what you’re doing, but it’s not bad. You absorb his comforting heat until it clings to you.

You pull away, but he holds fast. “I’ll see you next time,” you reassure.

“Soon,” he says, slowly caressing from your temple to your chin.

“Yeah, soon.” You pick up your bag, turn to shut the door, and see that he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> © 2018 backstage_rebel_girl  
> constructive criticism is appreciated. thank you for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

“How was your weekend?”

The harmless question lances at you heart, reversing the flow of blood to the vital organ only for it to correct its path and surge forth at the unforgiving pulse of a fire hydrant. You would like to believe you’re a fair actor when it comes to white lies: adding a smile here, a little exaggeration there. It didn’t matter in the end, because no one would know it was a minor lie to begin with. If only all white lies could be damage free, like pretending you weren’t just carrying out a birthday party for a friend or planning a surprise visit to long-distant relatives. You think back to Xavier—he can’t be a white lie.

You wait until you’ve taken your boots off and have placed them on the mudroom shoe rack that you saw on sale at a thrift shop early last year. That simple task doesn’t grant you enough time to compose your untamed thoughts, however, so you stall further by hanging your keys and make sure each accessory on the chain is neatly aligned to point the same direction. Eventually, you face your roommate who’s more or less distracted by some criminal investigation channel going on about a Jane Doe case. She looks your way when you don’t immediately answer, an arched brow indicating as much. Obviously not distracted enough to forget the question asked, though.

Forcing a shadow of a smile, you toss your shoulder up once and say, “It was fine. Zach was good, as usual.” You hope it sounds casual coming out. Even dealing with white lies, you have an unconscious habit of breaking eye contact when doing so. This time, despite feeling the world watching, you manage to keep your gaze on her.

Thankfully she doesn’t detect the way your muscles are coiled tight or the dew of cold sweat on your nose or your iron fists tearing through your palms. She directs her attention back to the TV with a lax swivel of her head.

“Shit, I think every parent needs a Zach,” she says, pulling a genuine chuckle from you.

“I’m gonna change and put my stuff away, then we can have lunch.”

From there, the rest of the day goes by without incident, and at an excruciating pace, you note. You admit you’re half expecting Zach and Xavier to be around the corner when you head into the kitchen or in the living room. Those three days altered your sense of time, stretching on to feel like weeks. Your apartment may be smaller than the Roth’s house, but the impression of emptiness refuses to leave your mind. The rooms feel vacant and dull, even your roommate’s bedroom that’s lively with a homey mess.

You have leftover take-out your roommate ordered the night before for dinner, and you almost turn to your right to comment something to Zach who isn’t there. You clamp onto your tongue to thwart a single note from vocalizing and return to mechanically eating. You like to consider yourself exceptional when it comes to sheathing your personal thoughts and emotions on the forefront, but you must be letting it slip more than you let on because you’re roommate picks up on your off attitude.

Your eyes expand enough to take in galaxies, anxiousness thickening at the idea of being called out. “I just miss Zach,” you say. “It’s been a while since I’ve been consistently seeing him, you know? Ever since uni and we moved here, I didn’t realize how much he was important to me. I’ve been caring for him since I was fifteen, so he’s practically my baby brother.” That isn’t the full truth, but it’s enough to convince your roommate who doesn’t probe any further.

Not only is the boy on your mind like a neon sticky note pasted on your forehead, you find your thoughts straying back to the boogeyman. Even miles away, he still haunts you. You wonder what he spends all day doing when Zach’s in school. Does he sleep the hours away; does he visit other children around the world; does he return back to wherever he originated from? As sudden as the thoughts are, you banish them. There’s an unspoken rule somewhere in the midst of your mentality that you mustn't think about Xavier, because an irrational fear birthed the moment you realized how much he plagued you: the boogeyman will appear if you imagine him. That’s unlikely, you know this better than anyone else, and it's just an excuse to pretend you're still as afraid of him as you were upon first meeting.

That night you don’t bother turning on your bedroom lights, intending to just blindly jump into bed. This weekend has taken a toll on you, and you feel it weighing you, body and soul. You shut your door with a soft click and freeze. It isn’t unreasonably dark in your room to the point you can’t make out anything. You can see vague silhouettes of objects that you know by heart, yet from the edge of your vision you think you see a bulky figure in the vulnerable dimness. Your instant assumption is Xavier, and you whip the light switch on in haste.

Nothing.

A sardonic laugh is your only company. That boogeyman must have affected you more than you thought. The idea of him being here is ridiculous, but you find yourself on your knees and peeking under your bed. No Xavier. You peer into your closet. No Xavier. You confirm that there’s no one but you, force yourself to plunge the room back into darkness and sleep.

* * *

Come Friday, you drop Lucy a call about the suggestion of babysitting Zach once a month to allow them a date night. They don't have bulging pockets of money, but the couple do love appreciating the little things, such as a night in the downtown area or a movie at a small theater.

“I couldn’t take your time like that,” she protests.

"Trust me when I say I’d love to do this. Think of it like make up time for the four years I’ve been gone for uni,” you insist. 

“Well, we do love you…”

You smile at that. “Besides, I already promised Zach, and I would hate to break it,” you say, teasing just a bit. 

“He’s such a good boy, but when he gets upset, it really reminds me he’s still a child. Alright, you got yourself a deal.”

The next time you babysit, Zach makes it his mission to have you and Xavier interact, which includes not speaking a word to you and letting the boogeyman be your lone interactive company for the whole night. It happens to go as he hopes; you can’t help but attempt awkward conversation with Xavier since Zach refuses to even acknowledge you. You don’t ever think that boy would be capable of such deviance. Xavier is exceptionally well behaved around you, taking your word to heart. As a result, that seed of trust begins to flourish. It also helps that Lucy’s work hours have changed, meaning she’ll be as late as Samuel when getting off the clock every other week. You’ll be getting to see the duo more frequently. Each time you visit, the more you warm up to Xavier.

By the time the snow gradually melts away, you’re able to greet, laugh, and play with Xavier as openly as you do with Zach. You learn many things about Xavier, understand him better, and you can say you actually care for him to an extent. You understand that some people instantly click while others take time to establish a bond; Xavier will take time, but you’re already so far, farther than you ever thought yourself capable of, and you’ll willingly continue this for however long Xavier plans to stay.

* * *

While Lucy and Samuel plan for dinner reservations in a week, you slay away at work, bringing money and food home. The days are uneventful, save a couple modest outings with friends. And just when you’ve begun to pace yourself with the week, Samuel is sending a text to remind you that they’re expecting you around five.

“Shit!” you hiss, scrambling up from your slouching.

The time reads a quarter to five. You just got home not too long ago from a stressful day at work and want nothing more than to stuff food into your system and sleep this Friday off; however, you wouldn't dare call it off just because you're tired.

You tell your roommate your whereabouts as you’re changing into more appropriate attire. They give an “alright” and you’re out the door. Traffic is as bad as it was when you were coming home, unfortunately. You manage to shoot Samuel a messy text that you’re stuck in rush hour and toss the phone away to focus back on the road. Luckily, you’re only ten minutes late. They're understanding, knowing you’ve just got off from work not too long ago. They bid you a good night, saying they’ll be back around midnight. The second they’re gone, Zach crashes into you from behind with an excited chirp of your name.

“I missed you,” he exclaims, attaching to your legs as you waddle into the kitchen.

“Oh, don’t be dramatic; you just saw me,” you say, cradling his head in both of your hands and pulling him up for a peck on his cheek. “So, what do you want for dinner?”

You spin on your heel and collide into blackness blinding you from the world. Your muffled grunt turns into a strangled yelp at the sudden gravitational change; instead of being grounded on your own feet, you’re lifted up high by brawny arms.

Zach laughs, amused at your position. Meanwhile the boy is busy giggling up a storm, you’re aware of every surface of Xavier melding to you. You may be drastically smaller than him, but it doesn’t discourage his motives to sink into your skin. He’s holding you so tight that his long arms wrap around himself, which you find funny. You mean to pat him in return, but your arms are caged at your sides. With your situation, you can’t do much of anything besides let him have his fill. It’s strange, though: he hasn’t been this clingy in a long time. He can be affectionate and handsy but has learned to control himself, you and Zach taught him as much.

“Come on; you’ve been hugging her too long,” Zach says in between laughing.

The boogeyman simply retorts with a snuffling sort of grunt, molding you to him impossibly tighter until you feel the protest of his overwhelming pressure diminishing your easy breathing. You swing your legs and wriggle in his airtight hold, trying to wrench your head to the side to speak.

“Xavier,” you croak, fingers grasping at his sides for purchase. He whines into your shoulder, tenaciously keeping still, even when Zach interferes with gentle coaxing at his arm. Your back and neck are beginning to ache at the odd arch due to his hunching. “I think that’s enough.”

“If you don’t let her go, she won’t be able to make us dinner,” Zach says, dimpling one side of his cheek in a pouty manner.

After an adamant minute, Xavier loosens his grip to set you back down. He rumbles a resonating, pulsed call that reverberates his entire body and travels into the air, a sound you haven't heard in a while. You pet his head, offering a gentle lift of your lips. He pushes his forehead into you chin in response, huffing out a slow stream of breath right into the alcove of your clavicle. The rush of warmth induces a shudder, a tremor you fail to suppress.

“Right,” you interject, a bit confused at his sudden behavior and peeling away from the boogeyman, who seems to have missed you more than Zach.

Just as the first time, Xavier hovers behind you all the while you cook, attachig to your back. Contact is something you can say you’re used to, and at this point you know a fair amount of his quirks to conclude that there’s no better way to handle it than to take it into stride. Yet, he usually doesn’t dish out anything beyond brief hugs, maybe some cuddling, and his signature temple-to-chin strokes, so this is more...intense than to your liking.

You almost slice the tip of your finger off when the boogeyman presses his nose into your hairline and nearly yelp when his tongue rolls out to glide along the side of your neck. It’s been too long since he’s ever done something like this to you, since you've asked him not to do so. You’re glad Zach is away in the living room and watching TV for the meantime.

As if electrified, you jerk to the side, tripping over your own feet. Xavier catches you before you meet the floor in a harsh smack, fingers splaying all along your body in an attempt to reach as much surface of you as he can. One look at him and you remember what it’s like to be afraid of him. This isn’t fear of him hurting you, you know that he wouldn’t do that unless he wants to lose Zach—this is fear of how feral he looks, how base and primitive his aura is, how starved he is for something you can’t even comprehend.

A shuddering gasp enters into your lungs at this new shade of him—no, it’s not new; it’s always been there, just dormant and waiting to unleash. You recall now: the past few weeks he’s been more of an attention hog, adhering to you and seeking your touch. You played it off as nothing, a mistake you realize you've made. He’s at his limit, about to burst out of his skin and come alive.

“Xavier?” you whisper, shaking, “what’s—” Your words fall apart the instant his free hand wanders along the hem of your shirt.

You mean to ask him what he’s doing only to slap your hands over your mouth when he pulls the material up to expose your belly. Before you can process what’s happening, he sprawls you on the floor, one hand pinning your torso down and the other gripping your thigh still as he settles into the curve of your legs. His head buries against the tender skin of your abdomen, just underneath your belly button where you contract. That’s when an unexpected thrill strikes hot within you, spearing your back to a bridge. You don’t jolt from that, though, you jolt when the heat of his tongue sears across your fluttering stomach, the tip deliberately testing the top of your jeans. Instantly, your legs jerk at the slathering that’s too close, and your hands finally rip away from your mouth to push at Xavier when he becomes insistent in his tasting, daring to bring his teeth into play and venture further.

“Xavier, no!” you keen in a desperate whisper, wrestling to slip away.

Fortunately, he listens, although he looks far from pleased at having to do so. His upper lip is pulled back in a fierce snarl and his brow bone muscles are pulled into harsh contours; and while he may be dark as night, the light above creates shadows on his angular face, making him look just as vicious as he’s meant to be. He rises on his powerful arms, muscles rippling with the flowing movement, and crouches in a posture to lunge at you.

“Okay,” you begin, shoving your top back down and backing away slowly, “let’s calm down.”

Xavier’s mouth twitches, revealing more of his teeth and ultimately splitting his face open wider. He begins crawling in the most fluid yet unnatural manner, bones bending and muscles bulging where they’re not meant to, creating the very image of a nightmare boogeyman who haunts your dreams.

“X-Xavier, you’re scaring me.” You regret to say that, you regret curling into yourself, you regret the doubt consuming trust in a matter of seconds.

Your words are the fingers pulling the bowstring taut and letting it snap back into place. His narrowed eyes fly open, aware of what he’s doing. Immediately, his tightly coiled form and his savage demeanor melt away. Xavier, seemingly horrified with himself, slinks away from you.

“Wait,” you say just as he’s about to disappear. He jerks to a stop. “I—it’s okay; you didn’t mean to.” You know you're trying to reassure yourself more than him, a selfish move, but you also want to mend back the trust. “Come here,” you encourage with spread arms, forcing yourself not to tremble.

He hesitates, seemingly contemplating whether he can trust himself and that hurts.

“Xavier.” If he won't approach, you’ll go to him. You lay your palm on his head, and that's all the encouragement he needs to crush you to him, whining repeatedly. “See? Everything’s okay.” Except, you don't believe your own words.

* * *

Zach clutches his sides, laughing until he can't breathe. “No, you're cheating!” he accuses, plump finger pointed right at your grinning face.

“No, I’m not,” you argue back, keeping your hand of cards close to the folds of your shirt and away from the boy’s prying eyes. There’s no use in doing so, since he's caught onto you anyway, but you insist playing innocent.

“Yes, you are; you only had one pair!” He then stands on his knees, dipping the navy cushion he’s sitting on. “I remember!”

You dramatize a gasp. “How would you even remember that?”

“Because,” is all he yells before tossing his cards to the side without care and starting toward you.

“Zach, no!” you screech with laughter, catching him before he lands on you.

“Show me!” he demands, trying to capture your wrists to get ahold of your cards.

“Never!” You use one hand to grope at his ribs, tickling him until he collapses atop you.

His screams are useless. You use this opportunity to stash your cards under a spare cushion off on the side and to gain an upper hand on the boy. You twist yourself so your towering him and attack his neck and sides until his voice shakes the windows. Abruptly, your phone rings. You pull away, taking the device from Xavier who proffers it to you. You thank him and see that it's Lucy calling, grunting when Zach throws himself at your back in rebellion.

“Hello?” you answer.

“Hey! I'm so sorry to ask, but I need you to stay the night with Zach. We just got a call about Sam’s mother. She had a stroke and we want to visit.”

You can hear the concern hidden behind the rush of her words. “Oh, Lucy, don't be sorry at all; I completely understand. I hope Katherine’s alright,” you say, glancing at Zach who perks up at the mention of his mom and grandma.

“Thank you so much,” Lucy heaves a sigh. “We should be back by late noon tomorrow.”

“Okay, no worries.”

“Thank you, again. Can I talk to Zach?”

You hand the phone over to an eager Zach who immediately plants the device to his ear.

“Hi, mom. Uh-huh. We’re playing a card game. Yeah, I know. Huh?” his soft face tightens and you nearly snatch the phone away. His confusion twists into a deep frown and furrowed brows. “Is she going to be okay? Yeah. Okay. I love you, too.”

Softly, you say, "Zach?"

He tosses the phone aside on the cream carpet and dives into your denim lap. You sigh, gathering him into your arms where he attaches to you as much as he can and soothe his worries. Xavier eventually joins the two of you, swaddling the both of you into his chest. You stay that way until sleep catches Zach. You allow the boogeyman to take the boy away to his bedroom and you pick up after yourselves.

You get ready for bed yourself, finally getting that sleep you were looking for. You’re in the midst of changing when Xavier slips out of the closet, giving you a violent start.

“Xavier!” you hiss. “I thought you stopped doing that; you surprised me.” You hurry to tug on your night shift, having no desire to let him get an eyeful of your breasts. “Did you need something?” you ask, once covered.

He points to the bed. “I want to sleep together.”

You reel at the new request. “Oh, um.” He’s never asked for that or even remotely attempted it in the past. After what happened earlier, you're reluctant to let him, not that you would let him without a second thought even if that scene hadn't happened. “I think Zach would really like your company tonight. Be there for him, just in case.”

“Zach is fine; he is close by,” he says, heading to the bed.

“Are you alright? You've been acting strange lately.” It isn’t like him to disregard his boy, and it’s concerning.

“Yes. Let us sleep now.” He doesn't leave room for argument.

Peeved, you slowly obey, climbing into bed. You expect him to slip under the bed, but when he joins you on top of the mattress, you fling away. With his lightning reflexes, Xavier snatches your arm.

“Why are you sleeping _with_ me?” you ask, baffled.

He huffs, refusing to answer you. Instead, he yanks you so hard you fly into his chest with a not so nice collision. He pushes you onto your back, face at your throat, and proceeds to drape himself over you, acting as your blanket. Heavy is an understatement to describe Xavier, pressing you so far into the mattress you think you might become one with the bed before it breaks.

You can do nothing but stare at the ceiling. He’s still upset about today's incident, it isn’t difficult to tell by his restlessness and rumbles. You attempt soothing his worries with rhythmic strokes down his shoulder blade, hoping it’ll work. It urges the contrary: he stiffens when you touch him, his muscles coiling beneath your touch. Alarmed, you stop, afraid you’re agitating him further. When he whines, you carefully resume your pampering until he melts and fits into your curves. You can’t remember the last time you’ve slept with someone in the same bed and with a boogeyman of all company. As always, he’s pleasantly warm, and it might bother you later on during the night, but you’re content with it for now.

You don’t know who fell asleep first, your money being on none other than yourself. You can hardly call it a morning, not with the dreary sky. It’s the perfect weather to stay in and do nothing but laze around. Best you check on Zach, though. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him that upset and you want to make it up to him. With your muscles tensed to rise from bed, you begin jostling beneath Xavier. Yet the further you squirm, the tighter his hold becomes. You call his name and attempt slipping out but to no avail. Just when you think you’ve got an opening, he drags you right back underneath him.

You sigh. “Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> © 2018 backstage_rebel_girl  
> constructive criticism is appreciated. thank you for reading.


	5. Chapter 5

Under any other circumstances, you would gladly accept Xavier’s natural body heat, but with spring succeeding its reign you find it difficult to welcome the warmth. Already, you feel sweat surfacing. In the heat underneath Xavier’s weight and the coverage of blankets, you struggle to fight your way free despite the boogeyman’s unforgiving restriction.

You don’t think you’ll get a second chance to slip away. You’ve never had to wake Xavier in the past, thus the situation is lost on you. Once again, you try calling to him, hoping to reach his consciousness.

“Xavier,” you hiss, straining against his arms, “I have to get up and check on Zach.”

He doesn’t stir. Very rarely are you ever irritated or angry with him, but now that you’re no longer afraid of him you find that streak meeting its end sooner rather than later. Having enough of being trapped, you wrestle your arms free and grab onto the headboard bars. With all the strength you possess, you haul your body up and out. It takes a few tries until you manage to wriggle out.

The momentum and the fact that you're on the edge of the bed makes it so that you slip right off and roll the second you’re free. Automatically, your grip on the headboard tightens to prevent a fall; however, you fail to stop your rolling and ram into the nightstand, a corner stabbing your side. You internally scream in agony from the blunt trauma but remain at the odd angle with your front stretched along the brink of the mattress, arms twisted, and legs sprawled on the floor. You decide you don’t like the genius who created high beds.

After a second, you release your hold and slide down the short distance to your knees. Once grounded, you soothe rubs into the throbbing flesh that will bruise in a few. Sighing your relief, you scramble to your feet and right your twisted clothes. You take a step, foot still in mid air, and Xavier snatches at your arm and you sail backwards.

One moment you’re free and the next you’re tangled within him all over again. You can’t even groan in frustration because you’re still trying to regain your breath. He takes extra care to pin your arms down while restraining you. A noise between a gasp and grunt falls from your mouth when he forcefully nudges your head to the side to expose your neck and plants his face right into the spans of vulnerable skin. He’s growling, you notice now that he's holding you.

Unsure why he’s acting such a way, your brain muddles with fear and confusion. You cry at the sudden sensation of his tongue slathering up your throat. In the past, you would brush it off as a sign of affection or an apology, but now the thought of him biting you works way into your thoughts. Immediately, you’re wild within his arms, a prey within the jaws of a predator.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” you ask, more of a grunt than actual words. He bares his teeth upon your skin but doesn’t attack. You jolt, regardless. “Wait, don’t—” You stumble on your words when he hisses into your ear, and your anger retreats to allow icy fear in its place.

“Quiet,” he rumbles out.

You shut up, shaking as you anticipate his next move. You’ve trusted him not hurt you before, and some part of you still believes that, holds onto it fervently, yet with how Xavier has recently been you’re half expecting his teeth to be digging into your jugular any second now. It’s almost tragically poetic that you might suffer your death at the hands of someone you consider a friend, a monster you tried seeking the beauty in.

“Do not leave.”

You detect a whine under the layers of snarling and your thoughts halt. It’s here, right now, that you realize he’s the one who’s more scared than you are. You feel horrible for never considering that Xavier would be frightened of the consequences of his behavior, frightened of losing Zach and you. It’s ironic that this being of nightmares is afraid, and because it’s his first time harboring such an emotion, he doesn’t know how to prevent destroying all that he’s created with the two of you. Throwing a temper tantrum, for a lack of a better word, and invoking fear is his defense mechanism. After all, isn’t it a bit pathetic for a boogeyman to be scared?

“Xavier,” you say, turning to touch your lips to his head. You can tell he’s startled by the sudden softening of your aura. “It’s okay, I won’t leave you and neither is Zach. Didn’t I already tell you that it was only an accident?”

There’s a second of stifling silence, and then he releases a high pitch sound that suspiciously sounds like a cry. The greatness of his monstrous body sags. You take advantage of the opportunity to wrap your arms around Xavier. Your initiation to touch shatters whatever remaining wall staving off his emotions and he shakes with gentle yet heart-wrenching wails.

You comfort him through his sorrow, cradling him until he no longer trembles like a vulnerable structure without a frame. The two of you shift in order to get out of bed, but his hand unintentionally grips your tender side. You hiss, recoiling from his touch to ease the fireworks. Alerted, Xavier rips his hand away and whines in concern.

“Don’t worry, that was from earlier. I hit it when trying to get out of bed,” you say, hovering a hand over the mentioned area.

He perks. “You are hurt?”

Not thinking, you confirm his question in an attempt to prevent him from assuming he’s the one that hurt you. You lift the shirt to reveal the pink on your waist that will begin a gradual descent to violet in the coming days.

“It’s just a bruise, it will go away in a few days. People get them all the time, we’re kind of delicate that way,” you say, more to yourself than to Xavier. “As long as I don’t put too much pressure on it then—”

“You are hurt,” Xavier cuts in.

“Huh? Yes, I told you already.”

“I will help.”

And then he’s wrapping one hand underneath your waist to keep you in place and sinking down to come eye level with the colored blemish. You hardly manage a syllable when his tongue is already out and gingerly licking the bruise. Whatever you want to say becomes a useless jumble that dissolves before they touch your teeth. You’re caught between laughing at the tickling sensation and asking him to stop because you don’t think you’re supposed to feel a thrill when he’s trying to help you.

You’re relieved he spares a few licks and leaves it at that. You watch in partial haze as he slowly pulls away, unaware he would have continued his pampering if he weren't distracted. He looks at you strangely, his head crooked just an inch and tongue lolling out with thick saliva threatening to drip. His nose flares, giving you an idea as to why he’s stopped short. Following the subtle movement, his body heaves as he breathes deeply, and his mouth opens wide to release hot air. Like steam, the heated gust rolls over your skin and pulls a shudder from you.

“You smell,” he inhales as if he can’t take in enough, as if he’s searching for the source of scent, “delicious.”

You tense, knowing without a doubt as to what the boogeyman means. When you fidget, you’re horrified by the uncomfortable and distinguishable sensation of wetness soiling between your thighs. Shame burns your face blood red. You try to explain and apologize at the same time in a tangled bunch of words, but you fall silent the second Xavier lowers his face to press flush into your stomach. Without removing himself or letting an inch of skin be left untouched, he trails his exploration down passed your abdomen, down passed your hips, and shoves his nose right into the core of heat of building dampness.

“Xavier!” you yelp, more out of mortification than pleasure.

However, you’re rendered helpless, as he breathes you in for a long minute. You’re a shaking, blushing mess, not knowing what to do, not knowing if you want him to stop or to...You nearly laugh out loud at the sudden thought of having sex with Xavier. You’ve never considered it before, not even a hint, because you were too busy being afraid or trying to familiarize him with human culture to entertain the idea of bringing him to your bed. But along the way, you somehow missed the entire fact that you unconsciously found him attractive in his own monstrous way. Fucking him isn’t impossible: he has the necessary parts, but does he have the mentality? More important than if he even wants to, would it be so much different?

You place your hands atop his head, neither pushing or pulling as you contemplate to the best of your ability with his face nuzzling into your slickness. Despite his unique features and his overall size, you believe it would be like with any other man. But you think you might go into cardiac arrest with him merely taking in your smell, how would you take on anything more? The image he makes between your legs is another strike at your heart, and you try closing your legs. Xavier isn’t having any of it, though, and grips both your thighs to pry them wide enough to encompass his even wider shoulders. The shifting of his muscles startles you and, embarrassingly enough, heightens your libido.

“Okay,” you stutter out, hands fluttering about his head. “Let’s—let’s, uh, ” his tongue glides over his sharp teeth, “We need to talk about this first,” you say.

“Why?”

Sometimes you hate how naive Xavier can be. You push yourself to your elbows, intending to sit up and away from the boogeyman. He holds you fast before you can squirm your way out of his grasp another time. Worse, he yanks you closer and resumes his ardent scenting, triggering another gush of wetness that will surely ruin your panties if they aren’t soaked already. Your face burns another degree higher yet again, as you realize you must be wetting his nose.

“F-first of all,” you begin, “I need to see if Zach is okay.”

“Checked already, Zach is fine.”

You almost scream in frustration but bite it back. “Secondly,” you persist, “do you even know how to, well, do you know what sex is?”

For once, Xavier pauses and draws away. The sudden removal of warmth startles you. A look of thought crosses his neutral features, and then he spots a painting of flowers above the headboard. He points a long, thick finger to it, encouraging you to peek up at the framed art.

“It is spring,” he says.

You and Zach taught him the days, months, seasons, and time. Slowly, you answer, “Yes, it’s spring now. What does that have to do with my question?”

He ponders more, looking rather endearing as he picks through his thoughts. “A bird in spring.”

An eyebrow arches at the seemingly random mention of the winged animal. And then he hovers over you, wedges his hips between your legs and snaps them forward with such force that you jerk. It leaves you breathless for numerous reasons, one being the shock of pleasure from the friction and another being the mortification of such a lewd action. Xavier thrusts his hips again, this time deliberately grinding into you. You cry for him to stop, only because you fear you’ll ask him to keep going instead. For extra measure, your hands fly out to push him, although that won’t make a difference.

“Birds mate in spring,” he simply says, and it’s a heavy stone sinking into your stomach.

“This is mating season for you?” you gasp out.

He nods, making you freeze. “It is why I am acting strange. We cannot stop nature, but I did not want to scare you. I tried resisting. It is...hard.”

The bits of information fall into place in perfect harmony. Xavier has been denying his biological needs for your sake. You can’t even begin to imagine how difficult it is for him to disregard nature or how long he has been doing so. You now understand the events from the previous night: it was a moment of weakness, he lost control. He had come so close, too close, to hurting you, and when he realized what he had almost done—You don’t think you would have seen Xavier for a long while or ever if that were the case.

“You’re too good, Xavier,” you say, lost in thought.

He shakes his head. “I did it, because I love you.”

Your heart swells, and you can only stare up at him in awe. You knew he’s liked you for a while now, but you thought he liked you the same way he did Zach, just with the exception that he handled you differently because he was uncovering knowledge about your body. Naturally, you were horrified with the aspect of a monster finding interest in you in the beginning, but after coming to know him you can’t seem to care, and a part of you peeks out with his confession.

“I love you, and I choose you as my mate.”

The confession hits you hard, leaving you a gaping mute.

Your lack of answer makes him worry. His brow bone furrows and he asks, “You do not love me?”

“No, no, I do love you—” Saying it sounds much different than thinking it. It makes for an epiphany. “I love you, too,” you whisper, staring into those luminescent eyes that have dimmed to a soft glow.

He hums, blushing a finger from your temple down to your chin, a signature touch you will always find comfort in. “Are you mine?”

With your words clogged in your throat, you opt to nod instead, leaning into his hand. The possessive hint makes you weaken, admittedly.

“Say it,” he demands, pressing onto you like it might push the answer out. “Say it,” he says again, this time rumbling the command into your ear.

You think it’s useless to deny the tremors, thus you allow the violent trembles to wind through your entire frame. You swallow first before answering, “I’m yours.”

Your first kiss with Xavier is clumsy and slow. Without having to warn him, the boogeyman already knows to be careful with his teeth. It doesn’t take him long to pick up how to meld his lips with yours, how to slant his head to just the right angle, how to trace the seam of your mouth with his tongue. He takes care to not choke you with the thick muscle. The heated exchange branches off to something much more electrifying.

You can’t seem to touch enough of him, your hands roaming along the huge expanse of his body and trying to memorize the strength beneath his warm skin. Xavier isn’t much different. His gigantic hands trace every curve and plane with a deliberate intent, and it makes you smile how cautious he is. It isn’t until you reassure him you won’t break that his grasping becomes desperate, as if he’s been waiting for ages to finally feel you under his hands, and that revelation might not be wrong.

Having his fill of stamping his palms on you, he begins to tug at your clothes. You don’t even hesitate to strip out of them, although you have to slow Xavier down less he shreds them. Once bare, you allow him to burn the image of your nakedness into his mind. You can’t help but fidget underneath his intense eyes; you swear they have manifested into invisible hands ghosting over your body.

Finally, he gently splits your thighs apart, and you welcome him. You aren’t sure what makes your breath hitch in your throat, the fire of his mouth capturing a diamond nipple and suckling it with the utmost tenderness of a babe or the burn of his hardened cock intimately kissing your ever growing slickness. You decide it must be both, but any rational thought shatters the moment Xavier simultaneously teases his pointed teeth over your twin nipple peaking for attention and glides the line of his thick length along your clenching pussy at a torturous pace. You gasp, forgetting how thrilling the touch of another is. It’s been a long time, and all the sensitivity has built up to a mountain.

You become distracted by a brief spell of dizziness from the spontaneity of everything that you don’t realize Xavier is traveling his way down your body until he’s mouthing at your thighs. Startled, you whip your head to eye him. There lays the monster, too big to settle between your legs and slathering and marking your quivering thighs. Again, the sight pulls at your core, making you squirm in his tight hold. As if the world has slowed to the dripping of molasses, you watch, unable to tear your eyes away, as he closes the seemingly infinite gap between his salivating mouth and your weeping cunt. You think you might bite your lip off at the hot stun of his tongue lapping you up.

You can’t ever recall anyone doing this to you so well or doing so at all, for that matter. Xavier turns you into a mess, ravenously drinking from you. And then the entire length of the muscle eases into your gaping heat and you arch to a tautly strung bow. You fist at the sheets, gulping for breaths, and writhe. He sets a cadenced tempo of measured back and forth strokes, each push and pull feeling longer than the one before. You imagine his tongue having thousands of different muscles, because each twitch and curl feels like a separate touch entirely. It’s unbelievable against your insides, igniting places you didn’t even know existed. And the erotic sound of his thickly oozing tongue driving into your equally crying pussy is exotic.

You’re on the verge of chasing an end. Not wanting it to stop so soon, you push at his bare head and plead him to give you a moment to catch your breath. Instead, he locks his hands under your thighs and over your navel, effectively pinning you down. His whole mouth gently clamps around you and he speeds his efforts. You almost rupture, but he immediately pulls away, leaving you throbbing and disappointed. You aren’t sure if you’re imagining his grin or not. The boogeyman rises to his knees and clutches himself. He doesn’t break eye contact with you as he dribbles saliva to coat his cock standing skyward. Of everything he’s done to you, it’s this one act that has you burning up in embarrassment.

After a few strokes to lubricate himself, although you doubt he needs to with how wet you are, Xavier resumes his position of looming over you. The two of you stare at each other for minutes, just taking in the anticipation and galvanism webbing in between. He leans down to kiss you and you meet him halfway, winding your arms tight around his neck. Testing the waters, he aligns his rounded tip against your entrance. You break away, suddenly nervous yet eager at the same time. Sensing your emotions, Xavier presses his forehead to yours.

“Okay?” he asks, giving you an Eskimo kiss.

You nod. “I’m okay. I want this.”

He seals your lips once more, a chaste touch. While you’re distracted, he slides in slow. You’re so ready, however, that your insides grip and pull him in. His girth is bigger than you’ve had in the past, but it’s a magnificent stretch. He reaches home, filling you up like nothing else can, and you clutch him tighter because of it. You aren’t the only one affected by the joining; Xavier grows tense, refusing to move until you give him permission to. His body rises and falls in heavy pants, and you can feel his face crinkle in struggle. You’re a snug fit and incredibly warm that you don’t blame him for fighting the urge to take you wildly right then and there.

After an excruciating minute, you give him the cue. He draws back, caressing every inch, stops short of his head and nudges forth just as patiently. A soft “oh” falls from your lips. Taking that as another sign of encouragement, Xavier goes steady. It’s satisfying to a degree until you begin to crave more. You urge him to quicken the pace. He complies with happiness. Gradually, the tender momentum breaks off to a frenzied pistoning. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you feel he might break the bed with the passionate thrusting, but you can’t seem to care when the orgasm you were previously seeking comes back at a brutal force.

“Xavier, Xavier, Xavier,” you echo, reduced to a broken record.

You come undone first. Your limbs lock in place, your lip might be bleeding, and overwhelming pleasure crashes over. Xavier is still racing after his own finish, stretching your orgasm on until you weep at the assault of overstimulation. Your milking passage is enough, and he comes with a roar into the pillow beside your ear.

It feels forever, but Xavier does pull away at some point. Your slick bodies connect as he cradles you into the nest of his arms. You remember falling back asleep after that. The second time you wake up, it’s to Zach knocking on your door. Xavier is still tangled around you, but he’s awake.

“Yes?” you answer, wincing at the crack your voice gives.

“Are you okay? You’ve been sleeping for a long time,” Zach says through the door.

Your eyes dart to the clock and you jolt up. It’s ten. “Sorry, buddy. I was just more tired than usual. I’ll be out in a bit.” You send Xavier a meaningful look. He kisses your temple before disappearing into the shadows.

“Okay. Is Xavier there? I didn’t see him when I woke—Oh, hi, Xavier!”

You hear the pair shuffle downstairs. When they’re out of earshot, you slump with a sigh. After cleaning up, you run downstairs and greet the duo waiting for your arrival. Zach is in a better mood after brunch and some time spent outside. All seems the same, except you find your eyes seeking out Xavier throughout the day. The boogeyman isn’t as shy, openly staring at you even with Zach present. The boy shoots the two of you a curious look when Xavier becomes more affectionate with you.

“Why is Xavier kissing you?” Zach asks, his nose scrunching up at the image of said boogeyman currently pampering you.

“Uh…”

“She is my mate.”

“Xavier!”

“Like animals?” Zach looks between the two of you.

You manage to slither out of Xavier’s arms. “Well, more like your mom and dad,” you carefully say.

A beat passes. “Oh.” The boy blinks. “Oh!” And his eyes light up. “Does that mean you two love each other?” His excitement stuns you.

“Um, yes, we do,” you say.

Zach tries wrapping both of his small arms around the two of you. You think it’s close to the boy sighing in relief as a “finally”. You wonder how long he’s been wishing for this union. The remainder of the day, you feel lighter. That noon, you bid your boys goodbye till next time. An emptiness is quick to replace the contentment overflowing from you as you drive away. You hope you aren’t being arrogant, but you half expected Xavier to put up a fight. You admit you’re disappointed he didn’t. Your housemate’s absence doesn’t help either.

You hope to just see Xavier once, to sleep in his arms. The second that thought passes, arms materializes out of nothing and vines around you. You yelp, nearly jumping out of your bed; however, the arms anchor you still and a voice shushes you. Xavier. Baffled at his appearance, you let him drag you into his embrace. You don’t question how he found you, but you do wonder if it’s alright for him to leave Zach alone tonight.

“He knows I am with you.”

Guilt pricks at you for stealing the boogeyman for the night, but if Zach allows this, then you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself. “I’m glad you came,” you whisper.

“I am glad I am here.” And he traces the familiar path from your temple to your chin.

You don’t think he will be going away anytime soon. He tells you as much, and you’re fine with his stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> © 2018 backstage_rebel_girl  
> constructive criticism is appreciated. thank you for reading.


	6. illustration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw for nudity.


End file.
